


dust motes and projectors

by Maelstrom_AR5



Series: film reels and books [2]
Category: Arashi (Band), Narratage (2017), 先に生まれただけの僕 | Saki ni Umareta Dake no Boku | My High School Business (TV)
Genre: Adults are bad at feelings too, Emotional Baggage, Established Relationship, Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:21:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26187880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maelstrom_AR5/pseuds/Maelstrom_AR5
Summary: Snapshots into Narumi and Hayama’s relationship: the simplicity of comfort, the domesticity, and the complexity of human relationships and emotions.'Human relationships are anything but easy.'(In which Hayama and Narumi’s issues are confronted (in)directly because age does not make it any easier to get over hurt. It’s the opposite.)A sequel to reading lights. Can be read as a stand-alone, but will be easier to understand if you've read reading lights (i.e. how they got together).
Relationships: Matsumoto Jun/Sakurai Sho, Narumi Ryosuke/Hayama Takashi
Series: film reels and books [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901704
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	dust motes and projectors

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:  
> Hello everyone! I hope everyone's staying safe and healthy. I've been rather absent from social media and have been rather sparse on writing because it's hard to get in the mood for it with all that's happening, but I'm still alive and well *waves*. 
> 
> But here is **dust motes and projectors** , a sequel to _reading lights_ , because Hayama and Narumi deserve to get better after all of that. I haven't written in a while so I might be rusty and this is unbeta-ed (insert tag 'no beta we die like men' XD) and I've read so many other fics in the last few months, so my writing style may have changed a bit since then. 
> 
> I have, however, tried to stay true to the characters and their personalities as I've written them in _reading lights_. This means that if it is in Narumi's perspective (which is true for 80% of this), it may be ramble-y. Also, note the **introspection** tag, because that's necessary with this pair.
> 
> I'm really proud of this, by the way, and I hope, with lots of love, that you'll shed a tear or two. I know I did as I wrote this.
> 
> Also, happy birthday Jun-pon <3

I.

It takes Narumi half a year after his first visit to the niche, indie-film theatre tucked in the quieter streets of Ginza to understand the appeal of said-theatres. In the six months, his visits to the cinema amount to three, maybe four visits in total (if Hayama invites him, Narumi says yes). They’re friends after all, and Narumi wants to know more about Hayama, about why he likes these old movies, and ever so slowly, he _gets_ it.

Before they start dating, Narumi is already enjoying the experience. He likes it. He doesn’t mind coming here more often.

The darkness of the theatre, the story that take place in a different time, a different location, in a different culture, and the complexity yet universality and timelessness of _people_. Movies are like books but on film, rather than on paper.

\---

“Everyone’s reasons for liking these movies are different.” Hayama says, as he sips his tea while Narumi transfers a portion of his salmon pie onto Hayama’s plate. “Some people like the escapism, or the exoticness or drama of a story. It’s like one’s taste in books.”

“What’s your reason then?”

“… the characters. I like these movies because their characters feel real.”

Narumi _gets_ it.

\---

As a ‘fresh-faced’, not-quite-yet-a-cinephile individual, Narumi must admit that his mind still occasionally wanders while unfamiliar actors speak in foreign languages on the screen. It’s not an insult to the movie, of course – the stories are often riveting, but his focus, while adapted to books, is not yet used to two-, sometimes three-hour movies.

\---

(Hayama tells him that his distractedness has nothing to do with the newness of the experience, language used or age of the movie, and rather is related to Narumi’s personality itself.

Narumi doesn’t quite understand.

The look Hayama returns him at his response somehow hints to Narumi that it is unlikely that he ever will: the mild quirk of his lips, the soft crinkling at the edges of his eyes and far-away, soft haze that seems to fall over Hayama’s expression when he looks – _really_ looks – at Narumi is a sign of a thought that Hayama will likely never express verbally in words.)

\---

Narumi is never bored, however. When his eyes stray upward, he ends up tracking the random motions of dust motes illuminated by the projection lights, easily mesmerized by the delicate dance of particles. He finds it fascinating, because it’s not often one can see the way dust ‘dances’.

 _Brownian motion_ , Narumi’s brain helpfully supplies every time. He’s acquainted with the physics concept from his university days. The first time Hayama caught him distracted, he looked questioningly at Narumi in concern; nowadays, the man only reacts with a small smile if he catches Narumi looking at the projector lights above them again.

He never minds filling up the gaps in the narrative over dinner, if Narumi asks.

\---

_(Narumi loves him for it.)_

\---

“I still don’t understand your fascination with dust motes.”

“It’s not _just_ the dust motes. It’s collisions with air particles! Browni—”

“—Brownian motion. Why exactly didn’t you become a physics teacher instead of a math one?”

“…Because we needed a math teacher? And I did get my education license for high school mathematics, not physics.”

“Fair.”

“But, I mean, besides the physics bit, if you think about how their motion is directed by collisions with invisible air particles, it can be analogous to so many things—”

“This is one of your metaphors, isn’t it? Ryo-san, that’s a _scientific phenomenon._ ”

“One day I’ll get you to admit that you like my metaphors.”

\---

(Narumi knows that he will never be able to fully comprehend what goes on in Hayama’s mind, despite knowing a lot – really, _a lot_ – more about Hayama than anyone else in the school, and potentially in the whole Honshu island. But Narumi is an adult, soon approaching forty, and accepts that if there is a word to describe the human mind, it is ‘complicated’. Moreover, he teaches _high-schoolers_. Dealing with hormone-fuelled thoughts jumbled with coming-of-age angst and identity issues are challenging, and it only gets worse with age.

He knows, oh how he _knows_.

Human relationships are anything but easy. And he speaks from experience.)

\---

II.

It’s _their_ ‘thing’ now.

Twice a month - or more if the theatre is showing something Hayama wants to watch - they’ll catch the 3pm showing followed by dinner (pie) and coffee (tea in the Hayama’s case) in the café Narumi likes to frequent.

Narumi is used to spending hours in the café in peace. That’s particularly why he likes it there – they have an eclectic selection of books that Narumi rarely peruses (because he has a lot of other books), and the staff (sans the owner) never bothers him if they see him bent at the table, marking papers and assignments. He’s been coming to the café for _years_ , at least once or twice a month, barring the few months when Narumi was absolutely swamped with principal duties.

If anyone (read: Hayama) asks why he comes here so often, Narumi will automatically answer that it’s for the pie. Their pies are delicious after all, and an ‘ _otsukare-sama_ ’-pie has become routine in Narumi’s life.

It’s a truthful answer but Narumi knows it’s a half-truth. Because it’s not just the pie or the atmosphere or permeating scent of baked crusts and brewed coffee in the air. It’s the familiarity of being somewhere that’s always there. Narumi has come to this pie café since he moved back to Tokyo. Wandered into it, one could say, and has never stopped, has brought friends over and even Satoko every few months for their dates. The café is full of memories, which is probably Narumi’s reason for coming so often.

_(He’s nearly forty – he’s allowed to be sentimental about these types of things.)_

Narumi is familiar with the owner of the café as well – a cheerful man just around Narumi’s age that insists in being called ‘Bukki’, who often makes himself comfortable at Narumi’s table when he’s on shift to converse about work and personal life. He always brings some form of treat with him; Narumi has had muffins, cookies and chocolates in the years he’s visited, because apparently, “you’re a reg, Ryo-chan. We treat our regs right.”.

Bukki is fun, casual and serious at all the same time. He’s seen Narumi come in with Satoko on dates and come in after the engagement fell through. Narumi would have sent him a wedding invitation had there been a wedding, but the man said nothing when Narumi stopped showing up with Satoko, stopped mentioning her, and he likely (thankfully) never will.

…

But it’s _their_ ‘thing’ now – Narumi and Hayama’s. Movies, pie. Together.

Bringing a friend here once in a while is not unusual for Narumi. Bringing the _same_ ‘friend’ for weeks and months on end, sharing an umbrella on rainy days is not _not_ unusual. Narumi lending his scarf to Hayama to wear before they leave the café because “it’s blustery outside and I’m not letting you catch another cold lest Ohno-sensei maims me” is not normal friend behaviour at all.

Which is why a few months into actually dating (which when added together with the months when they _weren’t_ dating, is a decent chunk of time), Narumi is hardly surprised when Bukki drops a stool at the free end of their table, and plops himself cheerfully down with a plate of freshly baked macadamia-caramel soft cookies.

Bribery food, that’s what it is.

“Ryo-chan~ You’ve yet to introduce me to your companion.” Bukki says while jokingly elbowing Narumi, smile wide and eyes bright with a perceptiveness that makes Narumi internally wince. Across the table, Hayama nearly drops his purple marking pen ( _“Red ink can be discouraging to the kids.” “So is a grade_ D _in purple ink, Takashi_.”) in surprise; although he does not flinch, he leans very so imperceptibly back, _ever_ so slightly, and flicks his eyes at Narumi before meeting Bukki’s gaze again.

“…A friend of Ryosuke-san’s?” Hayama waits for Narumi to nod encouragingly, then adds, “I’ve seen you behind the counter sometimes.”

“He owns it.” Narumi explains quickly before Bukki can say anything. He shoots his friend a wary look – Hayama can handle social situations just fine, but the last thing Narumi wants is for him to feel uncomfortable. “This is Tsumabuki Satoshi.”

“Call me Bukki. And we’re friends alright. He’s been coming to this café for _years_ now, and I haven’t seen him come with the same company for this many consecutive months.” Bukki gives Narumi a sly smile. “Ryo-chan’s a reg, so I hereby dub you as a reg too, once I know your name.”

Hayama cracks a smile, and Narumi relaxes.

“Hayama Takashi. I’m a teacher in Ryosuke-san’s school. It’s nice to meet you.”

“A teacher…” Bukki’s eyes widen dramatically, then, “Narumi, you scamp. Is that why you’re so lax about workplace romances?”

Hayama slow-blinks (quite like a cat) and Narumi raises his hands in front of him hurriedly. “I didn’t tell him about us. Bukki’s like that, Takashi.”

He leaves it at ‘that’, and flashes a toothy smile at his partner when Hayama nods slowly – as if he knows exactly what Narumi means by the vague descriptor of ‘that’, when Narumi knows he doesn’t, just to carry along the conversation.

“‘That’? What do you mean _‘that’_?” Bukki squawks.

“Please. You’ve known me since I moved to Tokyo. You’re probably more in-tune with my social relationships than myself.” Narumi snaps without heat, and internally cheers when Hayama raises his finger to adjust his glasses, hiding a small huff of laughter behind the action. Turning to Bukki, Narumi shoots the man an even glare as he grabs a cookie. “You can’t just bring cookies to bribe us for gossip.”

“It’s not gossip if I just want info on _your_ personal life.” Bukki pushes the plate of cookies an inch towards Hayama. “The cookies are good, and definitely not poisoned.”

Narumi snorts. “Your sense of humour is morbid and abysmal.”

“As if _yours_ is any better, kouchou-sensei.”

“It is too—”

“It’s really not.”

Narumi lowers the cookie from his mouth to gaze at Hayama in betrayal. The man returns his look with one of amused apology, a half-bitten cookie held between his fingers.

“ _Takashi_.”

“It’s his metaphors. They’re not awful in any sense of the imagination, really. Just a bit strange at times.” Hayama offers to Bukki, and Narumi watches in complete horror as Bukki _lights_ up like a metaphorical Christmas tree which has just found its new elven companion. Narumi doesn’t feel as insulted as he pretends to be, but nevertheless narrows his eyes and waves the cookie in his hand threateningly in Hayama’s direction.

“I never use them as a form of humour!”

“That’s my point, exactly.” Hayama takes another bite of the cookie. “He’s actually serious about his metaphors, and the problem is that they’re _logical_ yet make no complete rational sense simultaneously.” A pause. “This is a really good cookie.”

Bukki’s smile grows wider, and Narumi can just _feel_ the terror rising in his chest. Hayama hasn’t met many of Narumi’s friends outside of their colleagues, but Narumi knows that the man has a snarky side that will no doubt get along well with Bukki. On one hand, Narumi’s glad that Hayama is getting along swell with one of his friends, but on the other…

“Did he share with you the penguin metaphor yet?”

“Jumping from iceberg to iceberg…?”

 _Oh no_.

“That’s the one!”

Narumi groans. Satoko never got along this _well_ with Bukki. Their exchanges were always cordial but short, and— and…

Oh. Narumi stops mid-thought. He’s never really compared his last relationship with his current one before. Though… well, he hasn’t actively thought of Satoko for a while now, besides the odd conversation topic here and there with Hayama. He always mentions her, but it is often a single line because the thought still burns. Anyway, they don’t talk about their previous relationships often (for good reasons), but the stray thought is so jarring that Narumi finds himself frowning.

To be honest, he hasn’t thought of her for a while now, even though she had been a part of his life for a few years. Granted, Narumi put the failed relationship _and_ engagement behind his work to drown his emotions, and then Hayama moved to Tokyo, Narumi finally got better and… he hasn’t spoken to her much, if at all, since they broke everything off.

Well, he’s not quite ready to think about her just yet, moreover speak with her.

“Hey.” A familiar pair of fingers snap next to Narumi’s ear, and Narumi nearly jerks in his seat from being pulled from his thoughts. His gaze meets Hayama’s – the man has a small smile on his face still, from whatever he has been talking to Bukki about, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes. They are dark with concern, swirling with the unspoken question of ‘are you okay?’ because this is Hayama.

Narumi flashes a smile, banishing the thought from his mind for another time. Preferably, when he’s alone or just with Hayama.

“Sorry. I just suddenly remembered something, but it’s not important.” Narumi lies (he hates lying to Hayama) and grabs a cookie off from the plate that Bukki pushes in his direction. “Are you done talking about me yet?”

Hayama turns back to Bukki with a glint in his eyes. “Ryosuke-san often gets philosophical about dust motes.”

 _The traitor_. 

Narumi’s smile drops to a betrayed gape. “It’s not the dust itself! It’s the Brownian motion bit that interests me.”

“You’re not making it any better for yourself, Ryosuke-san.” Hayama comments in dead-pan, and Bukki _cackles_.

“Narumi – I like _him_.”

“You’re not allowed to have him!”

\---

(Narumi knows before he even falls in love with Hayama that the man struggles with voicing his inner thoughts. It is a struggle Hayama loses more than half the time, if not almost always, except for that rare occasion once in a blue-moon when Narumi successfully pulls it out of Hayama’s tongue as a string of jumbled, semi-coherent ramble via gentle persuasion.

His rate of success doesn’t significantly change when they start dating, but it’s easier for Narumi now to distinguish between the ‘melancholic’ thoughts and the ‘haunting’ ones, and that’s enough communication for them both. They’re adults – he gets it.

But for all the private moments where Hayama does share, Narumi finds his heart growing only larger for him, because Hayama has had no one to see him vulnerable for years, and now Narumi is the only one.

It’s a small action, but it means more to Narumi than anyone could possibly fathom.)

\---

“Your friend, Bukki,” Hayama starts quietly later, when they’re both done with their shower and Narumi is vigorously towel-drying his own hair. They’re in Hayama’s apartment this weekend. Narumi lowers his damp towel to give Hayama a questioning look. “He reminds me of one of my friends from high school.”

“Oh. A classmate?”

Hayama shakes his head, eyes clouded with nostalgia and barely concealed happiness. Whatever he is thinking of, it is a good memory. “From my photography circle. We were in the same year, but he was in a different class.”

“Photography circle? I didn’t know you were into photography.”

“It was a small hobby of mine. I used to be obsessed with all things film-related. I started out with a small film-camera that my mother got me for my fifteen birthday.”

Narumi tries hard not think about how significant that camera must have meant to Hayama.

“But so, for the annual school festival, the first and second years would be given a theme to work with, but graduating members could decide on their own theme and all. Said friend decided that his subject would be the circle members, and he proceeded to spend the rest of his semester sneaking shots of us.”

“Candid shots?”

“All the ugliest, most awkward candid shots one could ever imagine. Most of it were of members dead-asleep post-term exams.” Hayama deadpans, and Narumi huffs a laugh. “He was a complete menace. The girls in the circle were all so mortified.”

“A menace, huh.” Narumi blinks, “...didn’t you say he was a friend?”

“A menace of a friend. He made me a co-conspirator for many pranks. Can’t say I didn’t appreciate him, but he was a menace to the teachers. I did say Bukki reminds me of him.”

“Sounds like there is a likeness,” Narumi agrees and drops himself onto Hayama’s couch with a huff. He reaches out to Hayama when the man brings two mugs of hot tea from the kitchen to the living room table, accepting the mug and simultaneously inviting Hayama to sit right next to him. “You meet up with that friend of yours often?”

“The last time I met him was right after I moved back to Tokyo from Toyama. We had dinner together.” Hayama hesitates, eyes flickering over to Narumi nervously. “Miyuki and I, that is.”

“Ah.” Narumi lets out a short sound that lacks judgement. That’ll be the ex-wife. He smiles when Hayama settles comfortably right next to him, as if there isn’t at least another 80-centimetres of free couch space next to him. Narumi’s fingers weave into Hayama’s slightly damp hair to play with the strands. “Been a while, then.”

“He’s a very easy-going individual. Knows most of the... things,” Hayama gestures vaguely into the air with a hand. Narumi understands, “that has happened. Has never said anything besides hand me a drink for it.” Hayama tilts his head slightly in thought. “Talking about him makes me miss him a little.”

“You should have dinner with him again sometime. Maybe take me along with you and all.”

The look of mortification on Hayama’s face has Narumi snorting in amusement.

“He’s just going to tell you about all the mischief we did in high school when we meet him. Scratch that, he will tell you about the mess of the wedding planning – and you both will get along well because he’ll tell you everything you’d want to know about my adolescence—”

Narumi absolutely loves the fact that Hayama is already so certain that they’d get along, as if it’s a certainty that Narumi will be there with him when he meets his friend. ‘When’, and not ‘if’. It’s such an improvement from when Narumi first met Hayama, and just the small action makes his heart flutter.

“I would _love_ to hear about the mess of the wedding planning.” He raises his palms in a mollifying gesture when Hayama throws him a sharp look, eyes narrowed behind his thick-framed glasses. “Don’t give me that look, it’s hardly going to hold a candle to my actual engagement—”

Hayama grabs his hands in his own to push them down onto Narumi’s lap, and leans forward slightly into Narumi’s personal space, as if his presence and position is by any means _threatening_.

“Ryosuke-san, no.”

“Ryosuke-san, yes.” Narumi chimes back at his partner, toothy grin wide.

“I will hold your logical puns as blackmail. He will eat them up and we will laugh at you together.”

\---

“Do you still have those pictures from high school?” Narumi asks a little later, breathlessly and cheeks flushed while Hayama rests his forehead against the crook of Narumi’s neck, warm breaths puffing against exposed skin.

“I remember keeping some of them albums. They’re in storage, back in Toyama.”

Narumi hums and quietly says, “I’d like to see them.”

A pair of hooded eyes swerve to look up at him – Hayama’s lashes were always so long. Narumi always thought they were pretty. “They are photos taken by a 17-year-old me. Why would you want to see them?”

He shrugs, although the motion is slightly impeded by the human weight against his shoulder. “No particular reason. I think it might let me know more about you, seeing what you saw while you were growing up.”

“…I’ll let you see them if you help me look for them, if we ever visit Toyama.”

This time, it’s ‘if’, and not ‘when’.

Narumi smiles despite the word choice, and the expression is sincere.

Some areas hurt more than they should and for a longer time than one expects. It’s like his memories of Satoko and the times when they were together. A band-aid that should be torn off eventually, but for now, stuck on until he (they) were ready.

“I’d like that.” Narumi says genuinely and leaves the topic at that. “Now, are we going to go to bed or are you going to put on one of your DVDs and fall asleep in the couch again?”

Hayama puts on a DVD anyway, turning on the floor light Narumi’s side of the couch for him to read his book before stretching himself across the remaining length of the sofa, head pillowed against Narumi’s thigh. The sound is on low by default, because Narumi is going to read his book and Hayama has watched this particular movie several times over… and is likely going to fall asleep anyway.

…This is one of their other ‘things’.

\---

III.

Narumi has been in love thrice.

The first time he fell in love, he was in his last year of high school. As all young-blooded romances were, it was fast, thrilling, and in all ways and forms a learning experience – there were many _firsts_. The break-up was mutual, if it could even be called a break-up, for they never established being ‘together’. They simply… were. And then Narumi had to go to Tokyo for university, and _he_ was staying in Hiroshima to work, and suddenly they… weren’t.

Narumi doesn’t talk about his first love. Not even to Hayama, not even with Satoko when they were dating. He never mentioned him to his mother, although she probably knows because she’s his mother.

His father knew, Narumi thinks, even though he never spoke about it directly – his father _was_ a teacher in his alma-mater (and boy, wasn’t it awkward and _difficult_ , trying to get around the fact that he had a parent teaching him math in school). Their father-son relationship didn’t rely heavily on words, as most father-son relationships went, but Narumi remembers accompanying his father to watch the sun-rise the day after receiving his acceptance letter from his first university choice in Tokyo.

_‘Human relationships – friends or romantic or otherwise – are hard. Especially as you’re growing up. You can easily grow close to someone and just as easily grow apart from them. People are fleeting like that, but that doesn’t make them any less important. And it’s liberating, it’s the best feeling, but also debilitating and painful.’_

(Narumi wonders to this day how much hurt and heartbreak was written on his face.)

His father passed away years before he met Satoko at their workplace. Narumi wonders how different things might have been if he had been around. He was always a lot more perceptive with all things _human_ than Narumi.

Unlike the first time he fell in love, his second love was not an explosion of feeling. It was muted, a slow, soft throb of companionship and warmth and potential that grew and kept on growing… but that was what it was: potential. Being older meant that he could (reluctantly) accept the snap-back from losing that presence in his life, recognize the problems that always kept it a ‘potential’ and nothing else.

(Narumi has never told anyone, but it hurt just as much as the first time, if not more. After all, he had been with her for years.

And he doesn’t want to pretend that he doesn’t feel _guilt_ , but that ugly emotion is there anyway, sitting right next to betrayal.)

The third time Narumi fell in love, he hadn’t expected it at all. He remembers politeness, conversations about work and about things _bigger_ than work, like how to protect the children they were teaching. He remembers the emotional barriers he was met with, remembers that lightbulb moment of _right, he isn’t the only one who’s been hurt before_ , that heartbreak and emotional turmoil happened to almost everyone, and that was only proof that they were human.

Narumi also remembers fond exasperation and confusion and all the types of convoluted emotions one gets when they fall in love.

\---

Narumi files Toyama in the back of his mind and doesn’t think about for the next few months, simply because he doesn’t expect _anything_ out of the conversation that soon.

Because this is Hayama, and Narumi doesn’t expect a sudden change in personality in the private individual. Narumi would sooner assume Hayama to be feverish and delirious before sober if the man starts bringing up the prefecture, or any of the other two things on the best-to-not-talk-about-topics.

(Best-to-not-talk-about-topics: 1) Toyama. 2) The fire. 3) Kudo Izumi. Hayama’s wife, Miyuki, used to on that list, but not quite anymore, although some memories of her are part of (1), Toyama.)

Which is why when Hayama mentions _Golden Week_ over the dinner they’ve made together, his brain doesn’t jump to the topic of ‘Toyama’. He thinks, an onsen trip together. Maybe Hakone or Nikko, or maybe Karuizawa (although Nagano might still be a bit too cold for Hayama this time of year).

“Ryosuke?”

Narumi nearly drops his chopsticks at the mention of his name without honorifics but doesn’t let his glee show.

“Hm?”

“Did you have any plans to go back to Hiroshima during Golden Week?”

“Golden Week? No plans for Hiroshima, no. I was thinking of going back for Obon, to be honest. I haven’t visited the family grave in a few years.” _A trip with Takashi would be nice,_ Narumi thinks, _unless…_ “Why are you asking?”

He doesn’t think, Toyama.

“I was wondering if you wanted to visit Toyama with me.”

This time, Narumi really drops his chopsticks, the wooden utensils falling onto the table with a clatter, but thankfully not onto the floor. Instead of picking up fallen chopsticks, however, Narumi finds himself stunned to silence, blinking very slowly at the still hopeful-looking Hayama.

Visit.

Toyama.

With Hayama?

“…Ryosuke? Is that a no? I understand if you’re looking to rest over the holidays, though. You’ve been really busy—”

Narumi silently stands from his seat. His chair lets out a muffled sound as his movement shuffles it backward, but the apartment is quiet. Hayama’s eyes give away his anxiety, but he lets himself be tugged out of his chair and pulled into a very _tight_ hug.

“…Ryo?”

His heart swells.

“I’d love to.”

\---

_Gods, he loves this man._

\---

IV.

It’s not as painful as Hayama thought it would be, revisiting Toyama. It’s been years now, and seeing the ocean and the small canal in front of what used to be his house only brings up nostalgia and happy memories.

(He pointedly ignores the shed that has been rebuilt outside of the building, because no one needs to think about it, and if Narumi notices how out of place it looks in terms of age, he doesn’t point it out.)

Going through his storage is even more of an experience. They had planned to spend a morning grabbing some of Hayama’s personal artefacts (read: his books, some of the little trinkets and antiques he collected long ago and couldn’t bring with him to Tokyo), but once they were in the narrow storage space surrounded by neatly labelled boxes that smelled slightly of musk, Narumi gets excited, and they collectively get side-tracked.

Hayama doesn’t mind Narumi’s curious questions and observations.

They end up packing more things in the backseat and trunk of Narumi’s car than Hayama intended. The photo albums are put in first, although only after a gentle reminder to Narumi that they will have to save the album perusals for after they return to Tokyo if they wanted to have lunch at a decent hour. Narumi easily convinces Hayama to bring back his files of playscripts – a hefty collection – as well as some old embroidery art pieces from when Hayama’s mother still lived with him.

They take a longer time going through high school year books because Hayama is certain he doesn’t need them in his current apartment in Tokyo, so they spend a good hour flipping through the old pictures while Hayama points out his old teachers and classmates.

(“Wow, you’ve been a real looker since high school.”

“What? Have you not seen my teeth before I got it fixed?”

“They made you look _adorable_. I bet you got valentine chocolates from your classmates every year.”

“… yeah, about that…”)

They do find the old camera Hayama’s mother gave him decades ago; Narumi hands it to Hayama with careful reverence, and very shyly informs him, “I have a friend from university who fixes old cameras and electronics for a living. He could probably give it a maintenance check, and have it work like new, if you want, that is.”

Hayama smiles and hands it back to Narumi. “There should be a bag in the same box for the camera. Could you put it in the car for me?”

\---

She doesn’t look any different from when he last saw her, but then again, no one ages that quickly in their twenties. The only noticeable difference is her hair – she grew it out, it seems – and the obvious swell of her belly beneath her pale blue cardigan.

His breath catches in his throat. _Oh._ A silver band glints on her left ring finger, and his chest burns with an incomprehensible feeling. It is not of regret nor of jealousy, no, but of a hollow ache that leaves a bittersweet taste in his mouth. Hayama doesn’t think he has made a sound, but it is as if he did – she turns away from the waves, and stills, eyes widening, as she finally sees him.

“Kudo-san.” He greets her formally, then considers silently that she might not be using her maiden name anymore, if she is married. “Izumi-san.” He corrects himself, and adds, “You look well.”

“Hayama-sensei.” Her crystalline voice sounds no different as it had years before, not even with the copious surprise laced in her tone, as well as an emotion Hayama chooses not to identify. “You’re… here?”

He swallows hard. “I’m visiting.”

Her eyes begin to sparkle in the way he remembers they did whenever she was close to tears. “Hayama-sensei.” She repeats as she makes to stand. Hayama halts her immediately with a shake of his head.

“No, you – you don’t have to stand.”

She pauses and follows his gaze down to where he has been discretely trying not to stare. Her hand raises to lightly caress at her belly, and as if she suddenly remembers, Izumi flushes a slight red. Ducking her head, she shifts to the side of the bench, and taps at the empty space next to her.

He understands and sits down immediately if not to make ensure that she doesn’t get impatient and stand. Staring at the waves, Hayama finds himself lulled to a strange sense of calm at the familiarity of the sight. Next to him, he can feel the stunned gaze of Izumi still locked onto his form, but he tries to ignore the stirring in his gut. After several moments of terse silence, he finally breaks the awkwardness by saying what’s in his mind directly.

“I’m glad to see you doing well.” He says, voice surprisingly steady. “When was the wedding?”

“Less than year ago. Around nine months? I think.” Izumi replies faintly. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Neither did he, if he were being honest, but he keeps that a secret (he keeps too many secrets from her), and offers a half-smile. “Congratulations on your marriage. And that little one you have there. Do you know the gender?”

“A boy.” She answers immediately, then appears to hesitate before adding, “I had thought to name it Takashi-”

 _Don’t_ , he comments in his mind, but stays silent. Don’t name it after him, because he has never done anything good for her.

“-but I like the name Minami.”

It’s not a common name for a boy, but not inappropriate either. ‘South’ – of course, from El Sur. Izumi has always liked that movie. So does Hayama.

“It’s a good name. What does your husband think of it?”

“I don’t think he’ll mind anything I like.” She comments lightly, fondly, and he chuckles, tension slowly seeping out of him as he leans against the back of the bench, and sighs.

“…Are you happy?”

He is relieved to see her nod, lips pursed in the way they do whenever she’s certain about something. “I am.”

“I’m… glad.” Relieved. That’s all he has to know – wants to know, to be honest. He has no doubt that whoever she chose to marry, cares for her a great deal. Izumi maybe quiet, but she is strong-willed. She wouldn’t choose someone who would want to break her. And Hayama doesn’t think she’ll ever choose someone who is like him. That, in itself, comforts Hayama.

“Hayama-sensei?”

He hums automatically, in response. She’s not his student anymore and she doesn’t have to address him as ‘sensei’ anymore, but the address is familiar; her voice, saying ‘Hayama-sensei’ is nostalgic. It’s as if he is in his old office, when things weren’t necessary bad nor good, but not as good as where he is now, and Izumi is there, next to him, talking to him about whatever she wanted to share with him.

“I never thanked you properly. For saving me.”

Blinking slowly, Hayama slowly tilts his head, and weakly asks, “… Did I really?”

“Of course. I think, you saved everyone in that club at least once. Even Yuzuko-chan.” Her voice doesn’t even stutter at the name. She sounds almost wistful, staring into the clouds with the smallest of smiles on her lips. “I’ve been thinking recently, that saving someone doesn’t have to be a one-off thing. We can be saved by more than one person, and we can be saved by someone more than once. Even though Yuzuko-chan isn’t here anymore, I’d like to think that… outside of what happened, she would have been happy to have been under your care.”

Hayama faintly remembers Narumi saying something familiar to him, and his chest aches. The back of his eyes burn and his tongue feels heavy with the need to say something, but he simply sits in silence, eyes locked onto the waves.

Eventually, Izumi asks, “Hayama-sensei? Are you happier where you are now?”

“Yeah. I am.” The answer comes out easier than expected. Hayama’s mind flits to Narumi, and somehow the words spill out of him in ways he never thought possible. “I left my wife. About… nearly two years ago from now. It was hard at first, but... I’m better now. I met someone too.”

Hayama looks down when he feels her small hands grip his. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but she’s smiling as if he’s given her the moon and stars (he hopes her husband makes her smile like that too). “Does the person make you happy?”

He replies with a single nod.

“Are they the reason why you’re here?”

He nods again, slowly, then stiffens when she reaches forward with both arms around his shoulders to hug him. Her hugs are soft where Narumi’s are firm and encompassing, but Hayama remembers the time he found comfort in her touch, and he relaxes into the affection. “I’m glad. Thank them for me. For bringing you here and letting me meet you again.”

(Hayama is glad too.)

\---

She has to leave eventually, and Hayama’s heart seizes in his throat when he realizes that he might not see her again. Izumi excuses herself after she receives a message on her phone – the husband, probably, asking after her – and Hayama wonders if he’ll be able to make it through the rest of the day not crying.

He knows she cried for him the last time they saw each other, but this time he suspects it will be the other way around.

“I… Izumi.” Hayama stumbles over her name just as she stands. Her eyes swivel to look at him in warm surprise, her lips curling into a familiar smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For hurting you.”

She blinks, patient. “You never hurt me, Hayama-sensei.”

He exhales through his nose in a shuddering breath, and blinks through the blurry edges of his vision. “Then… thank you.”

“Whatever for are you thanking me for?”

“For saving me.”

“You are very welcome.”

\---

Narumi doesn’t say anything about his red-rimmed eyes when Hayama returns to the ryokan. He looks up from the one of the books Hayama had sitting in his storage ( _a book nerd_ ) and pats the empty space next to him when Hayama toes off his room slippers at the entrance and steps onto the tatami.

“Welcome back.” Narumi greets with a welcoming smile, as if Hayama hadn’t asked Narumi to drop him off by the wave-breakers at the beach when they drove past a very familiar woman (familiar to Hayama, less familiar to Narumi), and told Narumi he’d like to be alone for a bit.

He was not alone, and Narumi knows it, and Hayama knows Narumi knows it.

Yet he turned the car around and pulled over to allow Hayama to go to where he needed to be, with only a gentle reminder to take his jacket with him (“The sea breeze can be chilly.”) and his wallet (“In case you need to catch a cab back to the ryokan. I’ll be in our room. Take your time.”)

“I’m back.” Hayama murmurs as he sits in the empty space behind Narumi, closes his eyes and presses his forehead between Narumi’s shoulders. It’s only five in the late afternoon, but he feels drained and all he wants is to do is wash away the sand and tears in the onsen and lie down to _maybe_ cry all over again. He knows he was wiping tears away the entire walk back. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“It was no problem. I took the liberty of asking dinner to be served in the room tonight, instead of the dining hall. I hope you’re okay with that.”

Hayama loves this man.

“Thank you.” He mumbles against Narumi’s skin. His fingers lightly grab onto the fabric of Narumi’s t-shirt. “I’m very okay with that.”

“How was the beach?” Narumi asks next, warm tone remaining unchanged as he casually flips onto the next page.

Hayama’s grip tightens against Narumi’s shirt, before relaxing in increments with his breaths. “…it was good. I missed the view of the ocean from here.” He pauses, then adds, “forgot how windy it was here. Got some sand in my eye.”

It’s the stupidest and most obvious lie, especially since they both teach a bunch of adolescents.

But Narumi merely hums. “I have eyedrops in the front pocket of my backpack, if you need it.”

Neither of them actively reaches for it.

Hayama takes in the way Narumi’s shoulders rise and fall minutely with his breathing and matches his inhales and exhales. He feels lighter.

“Maybe later.”

\---

Although they’re not in Tokyo for this particular spring weekend, going to the movies is still their thing, so Narumi finds himself being brought to an old-movie cinema, much smaller, and much cozier than the one back in Ginza (of course) on Saturday, a day before their return to Tokyo. Hayama tells him about a café he likes to frequent while he was still living in Toyama – without pie, but with good dinner options nevertheless – and Narumi’s practically _brimming_ with excitement.

Especially when he sees what’s showing in the cinema and for once, recognizes a movie. He grabs onto Hayama’s hand when he sees the illustrated poster, tugging him forward in a rush and merely exclaims, “this! I know this one. I’ve read it.”

He’s _read_ it, because it’s originally a book written by a British author, and early when Narumi was in university, he attempted to practice his English by reading the translated Japanese texts with English novels. To do so was tiring, so Narumi started out with books of shorter lengths, of which included this particular story.

“’Picture of Dorian Gray?’”

“Yup.”

Hayama gives him an odd look. “Weren’t you a mathematics major?”

“Yeah. With a minor in physics.”

“Why exactly were you reading a 19th century English literature text?”

“I was technically reading the Japanese translations with the original text. And to practice my English, of course.” Narumi answers matter-of-factly, and watches amused as Hayama sighs, as if exasperated, then wordlessly pulls Narumi into the building by the hand.

“I thought you said you had a _wild_ adolescence. You’re just shaping out in my head to be this nerd with an ear and navel piercing.”

“Don’t forget the permed hair!”

“How was that allowed?”

“… it wasn’t.”

\---

Hayama has been in love three times.

His first love was his wife. He met her in university in one of their first-year classes. Miyuki was a literature major and they met via the same circle (Film circle).

Hayama had never fallen in love in high school, never had a crush or been infatuated with any other individual as he was growing up although he had plenty of friends who did. He surmises that it was due to the absence of his father throughout his childhood; Hayama never understood why someone could say they were in love with someone, marry them and have a child with them, but could still walk away years after. If love was that fleeting, Hayama didn’t want it, was what he thought.

He didn’t understand romantic love, and then he met _her_ and he eventually did. Hayama remembers swearing to himself to never do what his father did – to treasure and protect his wife and be there for her, for all the moments his father was _gone_ and left his mother alone.

And he failed.

(He failed them both.)

Hayama failed but he understands now that relationships and people are _difficult._ Hayama doesn’t know if his father thought about his mother and him after he left, but Hayama _does._ Even with Narumi around, Hayama frequently wonders if it was wrong for him to ask for the divorce. (Should he have tried harder? Should he have just swallowed the doubt and anxiety and given her what she wanted? It was so hard to fake normalcy though – no matter how hard he tried, the memory of what happened stained the air like the smell of smoke and burning wood. He _tried_.)

Hayama was in love with his wife until he couldn’t anymore.

The second time Hayama fell in love he knew it was _wrong_. Not because she was his ex-student and he was still legally bonded to his wife, but because he knew she wanted him to accept her unflinching, selfless – too selfless, too self-sacrificing, that is a _bad_ route to go through – love in spite of all his brokenness. And secretly, Hayama wanted to have that love… but he wasn’t worthy, and she deserved better.

Hayama didn’t think he could fall in love a third time. For all he knew, he was _done_. He was done hurting others and unintentionally hurting himself.

He is still trying to get over the emptiness in his mind when he meets a bull-headed man (pot, kettle) who waltzes into his life via a metaphorical stage left and shows no intention of exiting anytime soon. Someone who speaks without fear, words deliberately chosen and considerate yet unflinchingly honest – the opposite of how Hayama speaks, really – and has an odd penchant for strange metaphors and analogies that Hayama secretly enjoys. 

Neither of them is perfect nor pure when they meet each other for the first time. Neither of them holds blindingly naïve hopefulness for romance. They were simply two individuals with gaping emotional wounds, and time and place aligned such that they slotted into each other’s empty spaces.

He doesn’t know how long it would last. People come and leave from his life like air particles colliding with dust motes. Each collision affects his motion, his daily living, and some collisions are more _impactful_ than others. Some throw him off-course. And it’s the same for everyone else and the people they’re surrounded by. Even specks of dust are moved by _something_ (someone).

…

And perhaps, right now, this is a lull – perhaps the dust has settled for a bit and all is calm and all it’ll is another motion to sweep him back in the air… but Hayama will take it because he’s _content_.

(Despite his teasing, Hayama really likes Narumi’s metaphors. Especially the Brownian motion ones.)

\---

V.

The thing about being emotionally invested in others, is that one tends to forget about themselves.

Exhibit A, a Hayama Takashi.

Exhibit B, a Narumi Ryosuke.

Hayama returns from Toyama with so much weight _lifted_ from his shoulders. He smiles a little more openly to Narumi during the drive back, laughs more honestly at his bad jokes, and is more generous with sharing the memories associated with the things they bring back to Tokyo from Hayama’s storage.

Narumi returns from Toyama to a familiar face outside his door. They’ve already dropped off Hayama’s things at his apartment, but Narumi wanted to drop off his belongings at his apartment before they went out for dinner, and Hayama chooses to follow him up because he can. Narumi is asking Hayama what he thinks about having Chinese food for dinner when Hayama stops walking and stares ahead of him.

Narumi follows his gaze confused and sharply inhales when he sees who’s on his floor.

“Satoko.”

Satoko, his _ex-fiancée_ , dressed in office-wear despite it being a Sunday and a national holiday (oh the joys of the corporate life), holding a very small, light-blue paper bag. She turns from where she’s being staring at his door, and her expression flickers from conflicted to relief and then confusion in a matter of a few seconds. 

“Ryo-kun.” She greets him, and then bites her bottom lip in a manner that gives away her nervousness. Her eyes flicker to behind him, and she reaches up to tuck stray hair behind her ear.

“I, I was hoping to catch you tonight to talk, or, well, return you – your landlord said you were on a trip and that you were going to be back today. I didn’t realize you had company for the evening though.” She stumbles through quickly and bows stiffly to Hayama. Hayama merely ducks his head politely in return. “I can come back a different night.”

Narumi is still trying to get over the fact that Satoko is at his door still, and she hasn’t changed much besides looking more tired - but that’s what working over a five day holiday would do to you. Narumi’s been there before. He’s grateful for the tiny liberties he gets as a principal. But it takes him only a few seconds to shake off the haze and then panic, because Hayama is here and Satoko is here, and Narumi was not ready for either of them to meet, nor was he ready even to _face_ Satoko.

But she’s here now, and she wants to talk to him.

“I’ll just—” Satoko starts, and Narumi shakes his head quickly, glancing back at Hayama quickly and then at Satoko.

“No, it’s okay. I—,” he stutters, and stops when he feels Hayama’s warm hand on his wrist, squeezing comfortingly. The touch steadies him.

“Ryosuke-san. It’s alright. I’ll just head back to my place tonight.” Hayama’s being an angel right now and taking himself out of the equation, and Narumi can kiss him out of sheer gratefulness if not for the presence of Satoko right _there_.

“Takashi,” he protests quickly, and stops when Hayama merely shakes his head with a small smile.

“This is important. It’s okay.” Hayama murmurs, and then says a bit louder, “I need to unpack anyway, else I’ll be sitting in boxes for the rest of the month. I’ll see you at school tomorrow morning.”

(As if Narumi would let him sit in boxes for more than a week.)

Narumi lets out a little sigh, and nods. “Text me when you get back to your place.” He whispers and manages to crack a smile when Hayama scoffs.

“I’m not a high school student, Ryosuke-san.”

\---

Narumi admits that seeing Satoko sitting at his dining table again after over, what, more than a year? Is strange. Strange, being an understatement of course. She must find it as awkward as he does, as she accepts the mug of coffee he puts in front of her (no sugar, with milk, exactly how she likes it), and a cookie he got in the café in Toyama that he had been saving for an exam marking day. It is only polite after all, and she looks like she really needs the sugar.

Narumi is hurt but he’s not cruel. And when she looks at him with uncertainty simmering in her eyes, Narumi wonders what expression is on his face right now. He’s certainly not upset, and he is not pining.

He eyes the tiny, light-blue bag that has been set on the table warily and breaks the silence. It’s less than 20 centimetres tall and maybe 10 centimetres wide. There are only a few things that can fit comfortably in a bag that size.

“I’m not taking it back, Satoko.”

She visibly sags, and he adds, “the ring is yours. I gave it to you, and there’s no reason for me to need it anytime soon.” Narumi thinks about Hayama at the end, and cracks a mild smile at how indignant the man would be if Narumi even thinks about putting a ring on him this early into the relationship. Maybe after a few years. They could both do with a little bit more time.

“I…don’t know what to do with it.” Satoko confesses quietly, “but I guess I was also looking for a reason to talk to you again.”

“Well you’re here now.” He says a little brusquely, and Narumi knows he can be a little nicer about the entire situation, but he was – _is still_ – hurt (betrayed) by how things ended, and the feeling _burns._ “I didn’t think there was much to talk about. We both agreed on the decision to call off the engagement, it was mutual.”

(Except that it wasn’t mutual at all. She called him one day with a decision already made and he simply nodded an empty room as she listed all the reasons why they wouldn’t work out. Narumi was blindsided and it hurt.

Sitting here with her now, looking at her and seeing only a reminder of what they used to have, brings the buried hurt to the surface. Narumi sees her now, and he feels tired and achy and hurt.

He wants Hayama.)

“I wanted to apologize.” She looks down into her coffee. “I didn’t give you a chance to –”

“You gave me many chances, Satoko.” He interrupts her, exhaling slowly. “You gave me many, _many_ chances.”

“But I didn’t give you a choice in the end. I know I made the decision on my own and it was selfish of me. I’m sorry for that.”

She sounds so young when she says that, Narumi thinks, and he remembers that she is several years younger than he is, younger than Hayama too, and his countenance softens ever so slightly.

“Do you think that something would have changed had I said something else? If I didn’t agree to it from the get-go?” He questions her gently, and sighs when she merely looks down. “Then it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. I would rather have you happy and single than downright miserable with me, Satoko.”

She visibly tears up at that statement, and he wordlessly fetches the box of tissues from the living room. He places it in front of her, and she whispers, “And I’m still sorry.”

Narumi takes his seat again, body feeling heavy. He looks away, his eyes dry but hot.

“I’m sorry about it too.”

\---

Text messages with **Hayama Takashi**

7.21 pm  
[Hey, I’m sorry about what happened just now. She’s just left, but I imagine you’re still on your way back home, yeah?]  
[I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a ride home. Don’t forget to have dinner.]

7.22 pm  
[Don’t worry about it. That was fast.]  
[Is everything okay?]

7.26 pm  
[Everything’s fine. Nothing’s changed.]

7.27 pm  
[Are you okay?]

7.30 pm  
[Not really, no. But it’s nothing I can’t sleep off.]  
[Sorry about the way the trip ended. I wasn’t expecting her to visit.]

7.35 pm  
[I wish you were here.]

\---

It’s only been a few minutes since Narumi fired off the last message to Hayama when his doorbell rings, and Narumi’s instinctive reaction is to _groan_. He is not in the mood to interact with anyone for the rest of the night, and if he wasn’t already tired from the afternoon, Narumi would have driven straight to Hayama’s apartment and stayed there, school day tomorrow be damned.

But he is tired and Hayama would chastise him for driving in such a state, so Narumi is stuck at home alone, with still, a ringing doorbell.

His phone vibrates once, and Narumi looks down to check the message.

7.43 pm  
[Open your door, Ryosuke.]

Narumi _runs_ , and is stunned to silence at the appearance of Hayama tucking his phone back into his pocket, a plastic bag of take-out from the Chinese store near Narumi’s apartment slung around his narrow wrist.

“You’re here…?”

Hayama pats his cheek lightly with a half-smile and lets himself into the apartment with the ease of someone who’s been in there far too often. He drops off the take-out bag on the dining table and washes the two used mugs in the sink silently, before reaching into Narumi’s tea drawer to retrieve two bags of chamomile tea.

Narumi merely tails him like a quiet, exhausted shadow.

“I thought you might have needed me.” Hayama says later as he hands Narumi his mug of tea and leads him to the couch by his wrist. Take-out dinner remains untouched, but they can have that after they talk. “I would have gone home if you told me you were fine, but I figured it wouldn’t have been the case.”

He swallows the hot tea, and sags. The mild herbal taste somehow manages to erase the bitter memory of coffee. “How did you know?”

(Hayama always did know.)

Hayama tilts his head. “I could tell that you weren’t ready to face her just yet. There’s not a lot to be said if you aren’t ready.”

Narumi puts his tea down on the table and presses himself against the comforting and solid presence that is Hayama. Hayama lets him do so, lets Narumi rest his head on his shoulder as his emotions well up to the surface and –

“Takashi—” His breath stutters in his throat, and his eyes _burn_. He hasn’t cried in a long time, and he forgets how stuffy it makes his nose. Hayama cups his cheek with one hand, and lithe finger very carefully wipes at the errant moisture developing. This position is unusual, Narumi registers later – it is usually Hayama who is crying, and Narumi the one to wipe his tears.

“You very rarely talk about her.” Hayama explains softly. “And when you do, you brush over the topic like the very thought of her burns you.” He speaks with the air of someone who understands, and Narumi knows he does. Hayama understands too well.

“I sometimes wish I could talk about it with you—”

“It’s still healing. There’s no need to rip that particular band-aid off just yet.” Hayama looks thoughtful for a second, fingers winding up to lightly tug at Narumi’s hair. “It’ll be best to let it breathe though, once in a while, but I’d be a hypocrite if I forced you to do so.”

It takes a minute for the metaphor to sink into Narumi’s head, but he _laughs_ (is this how Hayama feels when Narumi tries to _logic_ with him?). The sound comes out a little bit higher pitched than usual – a strangled sound - and he turns to hide his face into Hayama’s soft cotton shirt, fingers tightening against the upholstery fabric.

That’s what the two of them are, in the end. Hypocrites. Some form of broken, some form of healed.

“It’ll be okay.” He hears Hayama say, “but it’s okay if you aren’t okay too.”

But that’s what most people are.

\---

_“I knew you loved my metaphors.”_

_“It’s apparently contagious. And I never said I hated them.”_

\---

**Author's Note:**

> I love this pairing, and I love this verse. 
> 
> Feel free to reach out to me on my twitter (@cielmelodies)~ I might have a smaller internet presence now but I'm always happy to hear feedback (or flail) either through Ao3 or twitter~ :) 
> 
> Stay safe, everyone.


End file.
